


rebound (v.)

by kokko (bwoozi)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8303105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwoozi/pseuds/kokko
Summary: 1. a :  to spring back on or as if on collision or impact with another bodyb :  to recover from setback or frustration





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! im back with yet another unbeta'd piece of gay garbage... i dont have much to say!! i hope you enjoy it <3

                Soonyoung’s getting tired, lifting boxes and all. Wonwoo’s in a weird situation and helping him move is the least he can do—the most he can do, though, is let Wonwoo move into his own apartment, and that happens to be exactly what he’s doing.

                “Wanna talk about it?” He asks into the air, hands on his hips while backing away from his new roommate’s belongings, all boxed up and sloppily labeled.

                Said roommate ruffles his hair and turns to get another box from the hallway, half-shouting an answer from the doorway. “Not really, but we probably should.”

                “Yeah. I’ll go first?”

                Soonyoung is surprised Wonwoo is even agreeing to talk at all. He supposes there’s a time and place for everything—actually, come to think of it... “He said there’s a time and place for everything,” Soonyoung sighs with a weak laugh, “He got into his prestigious theater school, you know. The one he talked about all the time. He transferred. He ended things, like, a week into school—he said he didn’t want me to feel neglected because he would’ve been spending so much time on the musical, but I think he’d probably just been talking to a cute girl. Not that it mattered—he was moving on way beforehand, I think.” Soonyoung rubs his temples, grimacing. It’s really difficult to have relationships in a close-knit group of friends. He’s grateful that Wonwoo wasn’t as close to Seokmin as some of his other friends, at least.

                “A cute _girl?”_ Wonwoo asks, brows furrowing. He grunts with exertion after dropping a particularly heavy box to the floor.

                “Yeah. He always said he was usually straight.” Soonyoung still doesn’t know what that means or if it’s even true—Seokmin is a musical theater major, for fuck’s sake. Wonwoo laughs at the absurdity too, eyes scanning the living room like he’s thinking hard about something.

                “You know Junhui. He was just… a lot. It was like, a textbook introvert and extrovert relationship—he liked going to parties and I always stayed home and got really nervous about what he was up to. He tried to convince me to make the relationship open, like, all the time, and I guess I’m pretty monogamous,” Wonwoo explains, “I actually broke things off, but we still lived together. It blowed. We weren’t mad at each other, but neither of us liked it. We needed time apart. He told me I should move out if I can, and I didn’t want things to get tense when they didn’t have to be, so.” Wonwoo gestures to the room around him with a helpless exhale, as if saying “here we are,” and Soonyoung gives him an empty chuckle.

                Soonyoung begins the spiel he’d been waiting to give since Wonwoo walked in. His apartment is just a loft—all open plan with a bed upstairs, a bathroom, and a separate office room—so there’s not much to say, but the figures it’s right to give a tour, even if Wonwoo has been over a few times before. “The bathroom is to the left, right when you walk in, but you know that. Me and Seokminnie’s—” He cringes visibly, clenching his jaw. _“My_ bed is up in the loft. There’s a floor bed in the closet off the living room, so you can sleep down here. It’s actually nice, I promise. It doesn’t get as stuffy down here.”

                “Is there a bookshelf anywhere? I kinda need one.” Wonwoo admits, pulling a huge armful books from the box he just took in.

                Soonyoung laughs sheepishly. “Nah, I don’t really read… or decorate, or whatever else you use a bookshelf for.” His apartment hasn’t ever been very pretty, but Seokmin did have a few odd knick knacks he scattered around. Now, it was just barren.

                “Let’s go shopping, then,” Wonwoo proposes, “I don’t feel like looking at all these boxes right now, let alone unpack them—so I say we go out to eat, then drop by the thrift store and get a cheap bookshelf.”

                “That sounds like a plan.”

                It was a plan indeed. They manage to find a bookshelf small enough to carry but large enough to hold Wonwoo’s collection at the thrift shop a block from their building—it’s a perfect square, 3 shelves high, and very obviously spray painted a loud, ugly turquoise. Wonwoo suggests painting it white, maybe grey, but Soonyoung argues that he likes it—the apartment is sort of drab, after all, maybe they need an ugly bookshelf. It compliments their ugly situation, right? It’s a metaphor. Wonwoo says that that doesn’t make sense, so Soonyoung says he’s no fun.

                It’s a comfortable back and forth that ends with a bright teal bookshelf pushed snugly next to the couch, being stocked gradually by their own hands. “It actually looks okay,” Wonwoo comments when he stands back for a better view. Soonyoung wonders, silently, if it looking okay can be part of the metaphor too.

* * *

 

                Living with Wonwoo is sort of what Soonyoung expected—they’ve been friends since high school, and though a bit distant, they know enough about each other to live in familiarity and share a space well. Soonyoung feels relieved to have someone in his apartment again. After Seokmin moved out, he was thrown into living alone for the first time, and he was a bit startled by how much Seokmin did that went unrealized. Counters got dusty. House plants died. Soonyoung’s bed was so, so cold the first week or so—it still is, but he compensates with an extra blanket (and, sad as it is, sometimes one of Seokmin’s shirts.)

                Soonyoung assumes that Wonwoo feels less lonely now, too, or at least less cautious. He knows how much time Wonwoo was spending avoiding Junhui—the living situation sure didn’t help him get over anything, that’s for sure. To Soonyoung’s observation, they both seem to be caught in a strange in-between, where they’re not sure whether to use “love” or “loved” when regarding Seokmin or Junhui, respectively. It’s nice to have someone who can relate and even nicer to live with that person, Soonyoung reasons, especially when that person’s idea of relaxing is going to the laundromat to wash clothes and read. He’s living with an old man, essentially, and all other things considered, he has no qualms.

                Wonwoo comes home one day, a bag full of freshly laundered clothes in hand, smelling strongly of laundry softener. Before he ducks away to the office (which he has more or less claimed as his own) he digs into the bag and tosses a blanket over Soonyoung’s shoulders, still warm in some places from being folded in on itself so many times. It’s still nice outside, not yet fall, but Soonyoung pulls it around himself anyway, now laying down on the floor of the living room.

                “Thank you, Wonwoo.”

                “You don’t have to thank me for doing laundry, Soonyoung,” He assures gently. Soonyoung makes a face at him, but he can’t see it from the door of the office.

                “I meant for the blanket, dumbass.”

                “Oh. Yeah, no problem. Also—” Wonwoo swallows, hesitating at the opening of the laundry bag before pulling a few items out tentatively. “I washed Seokmin’s school sweatshirt and a few of his t-shirts. You should give them back to him, yeah?”

                Soonyoung’s stomach drops, making him recoil back into his blanket and turn to his side. He hums.

                Wonwoo sighs sympathetically. “Soonyoung.” Soonyoung hums again, louder this time. “You’ve been sleeping with his hoodie a lot; I don’t think it’s healthy.”

                Soonyoung glances back at Wonwoo with a pout. He’s mad at him, suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable, until he notices that Wonwoo’s wearing a flannel of Junhui’s—it’s obvious, how it hangs off his shoulders. He can remember seeing Junhui wearing it. Soonyoung could be mean about it, make a comment much less politely than Wonwoo did, but he decides against it.

                “Do you want me to drop off that flannel at Junhui’s place on my way?”

                Wonwoo’s silent for a moment. Soonyoung doesn’t look, but he can hear him shrug it off and drop it beside him on his way to the couch. “Yeah, if you could.”

                Wonwoo is bending down to take off his shoes now, inches away from where Soonyoung is still lying on the floor. Soonyoung turns so that he’s facing Wonwoo, then, on impulse, reaches out and unties his shoes for him before tapping his ankle affectionately and turning to stare at the ceiling.

                The warmth is gone from his blanket now, but he’s blushing lightly, making his whole body feel warm—he’s not sure why, maybe because Wonwoo is laughing dumbly and beaming at him, sliding his shoes off and throwing them at the door, trying to stabilize his voice. “Thank you, Soonyoung.” He says finally, poking his cheek with his bare toe.

                “No problem,” Soonyoung chides, then adds, “your feet stink, though. Nasty ass.”

                Soonyoung feels a rough kick to his side, then laughter that mingles with his own. “Get used to it, asshole. Be glad I didn’t put my foot in your mouth.”

* * *

 

                “Soonyoung, are you awake?” Wonwoo shouts from the doorway, the sounds of plastic bags rustling audible as he pads over to the kitchen. Soonyoung yawns with a loud moan in return, rolling over to peek over the edge of the loft. It’s almost night time and Soonyoung has been sleeping on and off all day—he’s had this cold for two days now, and though he’s grateful that Wonwoo isn’t around to catch it, he’s lonely without him.

                “I am now,” He deadpans with a loud sniffle, “thanks, man.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                Soonyoung’s eyes are closed, but he can hear that Wonwoo’s setting the bags on the counter now, putting things in the fridge. It’s soothing to hear, therapeutic, and Soonyoung lets his eyes close again slowly before hearing Wonwoo fill a sizeable pot of water and turn one of the burners on their stove on.

                He sits up, looking over the loft again. “What are you doing, Wonwoo-yah?”

                “Ah, well,” Wonwoo starts, “Whenever I got sick, sometimes Junhui made this soup—it made me feel better and I found a recipe for it, so I figured I’d try to make it.”

                “Wonwoo, you’re so good to me.” Soonyoung gushes.

                Wonwoo hums smugly. “I know.”

                Soonyoung feels like he could fall asleep again, but he stops himself—he’s lying on his back now, staring at the ceiling and listening to Wonwoo chop diligently below him. He’s so slow and cautious, like he’s never cooked a day in his life, and Soonyoung wouldn’t doubt if that was true. He’s gotten accustomed to not hearing anyone else in his apartment; it’s strange to hear someone else walking around downstairs. So strange, in fact, that he feels a bit sick to his stomach in the moments his brain tricks itself into thinking it’s Seokmin.

                Eventually, there’s a good half hour where Wonwoo isn’t making any sound—Soonyoung assumes he’s letting it simmer and nods off until Wonwoo is sitting upstairs in front of him with 2 piping hot bowls of soup.

                “Thank you.” Soonyoung says sleepily. Wonwoo’s blowing on a spoonful and watching Soonyoung expectantly until he graciously accepts his bowl and starts eating it slowly.

                “This is really good,” Soonyoung murmurs in awe after his first mouthful, “what’s in this?”

                “You know, potatoes, pork, carrots…” Wonwoo cuts himself off by putting his spoon in his mouth, slurping lightly. Soonyoung, though ridiculously focused on inhaling his soup, notices more than halfway through his bowl that Wonwoo has stopped eating. He looks up to meet Wonwoo’s eyes. They suddenly seem blank and sad, like he’s having a flashback. Soonyoung lowers his bowl to rest between his crossed legs.

                “What’s the matter?” He pries, Wonwoo’s body jolting slightly as he makes eye contact with Soonyoung.

                “Nothing, just not hungry, I guess.”

                Soonyoung wants to call bullshit, but he’s much softer than he’d like to admit. He places a hand on Wonwoo’s knee sympathetically, running a thumb over the bone. They’re both looking down now, like they’re mourning.

                “It’s funny how tastes and sounds and stuff can remind you of someone, huh?” He’s nasally; he sounds like a child. Wonwoo chuckles weakly at the innocence of the question.

                “Yeah.” His spoon clinks in the bowl, a sharp sound over the murmur of the TV downstairs and the quiet sighs of their breathing. Soonyoung’s hand doesn’t move until Wonwoo goes to stand.

                “Hey,” Soonyoung whispers hastily, “Wonwoo, could you do me a favor?” He clears his sore throat and grips Wonwoo’s wrist firmly. “Two favors, actually?”

                Wonwoo nods and readjusts his glasses—they’re hanging from the neck of his sweater, threatening to fall.

                “First, can you get me some Nyquil from the bathroom cabinet?”

                Wonwoo rummages in the pocket of his sweatpants and tosses a packet of 2 pills between them unceremoniously. He blinks. “Already got you some.”

                “Oh my god, you’re the best.” Soonyoung says, still picking at the last of his soup. “Second, can you put these in the sink?”

                Wonwoo does just that, silently. He turns off everything downstairs on the way, then climbs back up the stairs with a glass of water for Soonyoung, crouching at the top of the landing to hand it off to him. He looks drained, exhausted, like he just wants to go downstairs and be alone, but Soonyoung won’t let that slide.

                “Okay, I lied, is three favors okay?” He asks before Wonwoo can turn back to the stairs. Wonwoo nods, making Soonyoung gulp roughly. “Can you… will you come lie with me?” His voice is so small and so much more shy than he intended—he curses himself internally, licking his chapped lips. While waiting on a response, he downs his pills quickly and sets his water aside, redirecting his gaze back to Wonwoo and patting the space beside him on his mattress.

                Wonwoo doesn’t even say anything, just turns off the light and lowers himself onto Soonyoung’s bed, squirming under his comforter and pulling it up to his chin. Soonyoung can hardly see him in the dark, but he can see the furrow of his brow and how he looks vulnerable and vaguely angry. He knows Wonwoo’s not the type to cry, but Soonyoung has yet to see him look genuinely upset. Soonyoung wants to reach out and hold him.

                After a moment of awkward eye contact, Soonyoung realizes he _can_ reach out to hold him. He doesn’t do exactly that, just drapes an arm over his waist, but Wonwoo relaxes immediately.

                “Just till I fall asleep, then you can get up, if you want.” Soonyoung exhales, nearly too quiet for Wonwoo to hear. He nods slowly before turning over and pressing his back into Soonyoung’s chest.

                Gradually, their breathing becomes even and almost synced—Wonwoo actually falls asleep first, the tossing and turning beforehand resulting in him facing Soonyoung, his arms tangled between them. Soonyoung’s fixated on how long his eyelashes look, how his mouth is slightly agape, how he’s snoring softly; though he feels a bit invasive, he watches Wonwoo until he falls asleep as well.

                (He has a dream that Wonwoo kisses him—granted, the rest of the dream is nonsense, Wonwoo is riding a goat—but his lips feel real, and soft, and warm. Soonyoung wakes up to an empty bed, though, Wonwoo already downstairs watching TV.)

* * *

 

                Soonyoung and Wonwoo's living situation has been intimate since day one—not in the sexual sense of the word, more like domestic. Soonyoung takes care of Wonwoo and vice versa. Looking after each other feels natural, and it’s definitely something they need, considering they’re both coming out of relationships. Helping each other has made them closer, both figuratively and literally.

                There are so many times that Wonwoo is too lazy to get out the floor bed or Soonyoung is too clingy to sleep alone that Wonwoo starts sleeping in his bed every night—usually, he dozes off with his back pressed firmly against Soonyoung’s, their limbs having a tendency to tangle and rest on each other in the night. It’s comfortable. Wonwoo seems to always be too cold while Soonyoung is too warm.

                They share every space. Even the bathroom in the morning, as they tend to wake each other up no matter the time. The sink is tiny so they end up shoulder-to-shoulder most of the time, elbows bumping awkwardly as they get ready.

                When Wonwoo walks in one morning, Soonyoung speaks through a minty foam in his mouth, his brow furrowed in the mirror in front of him. “Whoa.”

                “What?”

                “Just—this is the first time I’ve seen you shirtless.” Soonyoung tries hard not to stare, just brushes his teeth quietly. He steps back from the sink to see Wonwoo’s vertebrae sticking out, a defined line of bumps running up his back, and it becomes hard not to say anything.

                “You’re really skinny, Wonwoo.” He says heavily, cautiously. Wonwoo doesn’t glance at himself, just continues his routine with tensed shoulders, pointed where the skin is stretched too thin over the bone.

                He clears his throat and musses with his hair before turning and leaning against the counter. “Yeah, uh,” He breathes, “I think you’re the first person to notice. Junhui never said anything. Neither did, like, Jeonghan, Jihoon…”

                “Are you—is it, like, on purpose?” Soonyoung’s voice is uneasy. He hopes Wonwoo doesn’t notice.

                “Not really. Not usually, at least.”

                Soonyoung’s heart thrums in his chest and Wonwoo gnaws at his lip briefly. “Is that why… the other day…”

                “No, no. That was just, like, remembering stuff. I promise. In general, I just… forget to eat unless someone tells me to, usually.” Wonwoo is scratching the back of his neck now, flustered.

                Soonyoung laughs breathily to himself, but it sounds a bit more panicked than he would like. “From now on, we’ll eat together then, okay? At least breakfast and dinner.” He suggests. Wonwoo hums.

                “I don’t mind. God, dude—if we spend any more time together, people are gonna think we’re rebounding each other.” Wonwoo jokes, and Soonyoung ponders it for a moment while lathering his face with shaving cream.

                “Can two people even rebound each other?”

                “I’m sure it’s possible.” Wonwoo decides, a corner of his mouth turning up at Soonyoung in the mirror.

                Soonyoung doesn’t say it, but he hopes it’s possible.

* * *

 

                He should have unfollowed Seokmin on social media. As much as he wants to stay on good terms with him, it’s not getting him anywhere—today, Seokmin posted a picture with his new girlfriend, leaving Soonyoung crying silently on the couch. He tried to busy himself earlier, tried to clean up the books strewn across the floor in front of their ugly turquoise bookshelf, but thinking about it made him feel even worse, for some reason, like he shouldn’t want Wonwoo to come out of the office and comfort him.

                Wonwoo does come out of the office eventually, seeing the mess he left earlier and shoving the books back on the shelf messily before plopping down on the couch beside Soonyoung. He can see his face now, the TV screen being the only light illuminating his features, and Soonyoung knows Wonwoo can see how teary his eyes are. Wonwoo puts a hand on his shoulder anyway.

                “How’s it going?”

                Soonyoung sighs shakily with a weak smile. “Pretty bad, why?”

                “I—honestly, I figured, I saw that picture Seokmin posted.”

                Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just whimpers and pulls his legs to his chest. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm.

                “I was gonna order chicken, but you don’t seem hungry.” Wonwoo says. Soonyoung chuckles.

                “Yeah, no, not really.” Soonyoung turns his head then, meeting Wonwoo’s gaze, and they both pull their eyes away right after. Soonyoung doesn’t know how he feels about Wonwoo seeing him cry, but he doesn’t think it’s good.

                “You know, Soonyoung—” Wonwoo’s rubbing his shoulder now, softly, “You’re a good person, you’ll find someone. Don’t cry.”

                “I was, like, crazy about him,” Soonyong blurts, his voice cracking with a small sob. He’s really crying now—Wonwoo is pulling him to his side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

                “I know, I know.” Wonwoo does know, too—Soonyoung realizes that he probably feels the same way about Junhui.

                “I can’t even be mad at him.”

                “I know, Soonyoung, I know.”

                Wonwoo holds Soonyoung while he cries. It feels nice, comforting—so much so that Soonyoung dozes off on the couch, Wonwoo pulling his floor bed right up next to it rather than retiring upstairs for bed.

* * *

 

                There’s steam rolling under the bathroom door one day when Wonwoo comes home, light splashing coming from inside. He knocks before he comes in to pee, but Soonyoung doesn’t cover up, just leans on the side of the tub and makes idle conversation while Wonwoo washes his hands and splashes his face with water. He pauses at the sink before leaving, eyeing the tub. Soonyoung cocks an eyebrow at him.

                “Would you freak out if I joined you?” Wonwoo asks boldly, a half-smile spreading across his cheeks. “Not in a sexy way, in a ‘work sucked today and I’m too tired to run my own bath’ way.”

                Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “I’m cool with that. Are—are _you_ cool with that?” Soonyoung isn’t sure how Wonwoo feels about being naked around other people—Soonyoung happens to have no boundaries, so he’s not great at gauging things like that.

                Wonwoo nods, already lifting his shirt off. “Of course, you’re like my brother.”

                “Oh god,” Soonyoung cringes with his entire body, his head lolling back in agony. “dude, don’t say that…”

                Wonwoo’s completely naked now, easing himself into the water. He seethes—to be fair, it’s a hot bath, but Soonyoung still laughs at him, perhaps as a way of distracting himself from what’s a generous foot away from his face. He didn’t expect Wonwoo to have a nice butt; he finds it hard not to stare.

                “What? Why?” He asks when he’s finally settled in the water, between Soonyoung’s legs. He splashes water carefully onto his arms and chest.

                “Because it makes me feel all incest-y.” Soonyoung’s face is in one of his hands—the back of Wonwoo’s head meets his shoulder, dry hair being dampened by wet skin.

                “How?”

                “Use your brain, man. We share a bed. We spoon. We’re taking a bath together right now, actually.”

                “Brothers do that.”

                _“Stop.”_ Soonyoung begs, squirming enough to make the water level threaten to tip over the edge. Wonwoo giggles and tries to lift the drain with his foot slightly to no avail, eventually giving up and settling for staying very still against Soonyoung’s chest. They breathe slowly together, eyes closed in relaxation.

                Wonwoo sighs and clicks his tongue, bringing Soonyoung back into consciousness. “Ok, so maybe you’re not like my brother.” Wonwoo starts, sitting up a bit more. “But aren’t we just, like, using each other as a crutch to deal with shit?”

                “Do you think we are?” Soonyoung realizes how hurt he sounds and feels embarrassed, his voice quieter and more serious.

                “Honestly, yeah.” Wonwoo confesses, feeling Soonyoung wrap his arms around his waist. “I don’t think that’s bad. It doesn’t mean that’s all it is.” Wonwoo clears his throat and matches Soonyoung’s tone unintentionally. “Is that all it is to you?”

                “No, no. Of course not.” Soonyoung gives his waist a light squeeze, letting silence fall between them again. It’s nice to affirm they’re on the same page, he thinks. Rubbing small circles on Wonwoo’s stomach with his thumbs, Soonyoung rests his head against the tile wall, letting his eyes slip shut again.

                Wonwoo fidgets and clears his throat after a while, places a hand on Soonyoung’s knee. “Would you freak out if I kissed you?”

                Soonyoung totally would. In a good way—he’d be excited. He tries to keep his cool, saying “no” playfully, nuzzling closer to Wonwoo’s back.

                Then, Soonyoung waits. Wonwoo isn’t moving; Soonyoung wonders if he’s nervous, too, and if he can feel his heart pounding out of his chest. He doesn’t know how long Wonwoo stays there, but it feels like hours before Soonyoung can’t stand it anymore

                “Are you gonna do it?” He laughs, patting Wonwoo’s side. Wonwoo yawns.

                “Yeah.”

                Soonyoung sits up properly, forcing Wonwoo out of his grasp. “Then turn around, lazy ass.”

                Wonwoo turns his lazy ass around, water sloshing in the process, and kisses Soonyoung in earnest. His hand rests pointedly on where the skin of his neck meets his hairline, lets his lips drag slowly against Wonwoo’s. It feels like he’s been struck by lightning—his chest tightens and he sighs into Wonwoo’s mouth, making him move to kiss the corner of his mouth down to his jawline. Soonyoung stops him when he gets to his collarbone, hands running up and down his hips.

                “I, uh—” He’s in awe. He can’t stop looking at Wonwoo once he pulls away—He debates kissing him again right then and there, but holds back. “I’m not trying to… I don’t want to go any further.” He says plainly, quietly, looking to Wonwoo’s eyes.

                “In general? Or just right now?” He licks his lips, now staring at Soonyoung’s, and Soonyoung pecks him softly before replying.

                “For a while.” Soonyoung says, almost gravely. He finds Wonwoo’s hand in the bathwater and holds it with a drawn out sigh, thumbing over the top of his hand.

                Wonwoo understands. He’s silent for the rest of their bath, still leans into Soonyoung and lets him wash his hair and his back, sighing contently with each gentle touch. Of course the favor is returned, and of course they still end up nuzzled together in what used to be Soonyoung’s bed, now theirs. Wonwoo hasn’t pulled out his floor bed in weeks.

                (He dreams about Wonwoo kissing him again. If it didn’t feel real before, it certainly feels real now—it feels like how it did earlier, but more drawn out, more passionate. Wonwoo is crying and Soonyoung can taste the salt on his lips, then on his own, and he suddenly feels guilty. He stops dreaming but doesn’t wake up.)

* * *

                Wonwoo is nudging his shoulder at 5:30 am. Soonyoung groans, but gets up anyway—Wonwoo’s begging him to go on a walk. He tugs on joggers and his coat, doesn’t even brush his teeth. Wonwoo doesn’t look much better. There’s a callick at the back of his head that sticks straight up.

                They’re dragging their feet across the concrete, the only sound being a few lone cars and distant chirping of birds. The sun is barely risen and neither are they. Soonyoung’s voice is groggy when he questions Wonwoo.

                “Why’d you wanna take a walk so early?”

                “I wanted to talk about feelings and stuff, unfortunately.” Wonwoo sounds like he’s dreading this.

                Soonyoung nods with a slight pout. “What kind of feelings?”

                “Like…” Wonwoo breathes, “feelings for you. How I feel about you.” He laughs weakly, looking down at his feet. “I like you, is what I’m saying.”

                Soonyoung hums. He’s not shocked, but his heart beats a bit faster, blood rushing to his face. “I like you too.”

                Wonwoo nudges his shoulder and they both smile sheepishly, like kids. It’s terrible. Wonwoo looks up eventually, clearing his throat.

                “That’s good, but like… are you into being in a relationship right now?” Soonyoung ponders that, counting the months since he and Seokmin had broken up on his fingers. It’s five—he wonders if that’s long enough. Are they about to rebound each other?

                “I don’t know.” He says finally. Wonwoo sucks his teeth.

                “Am _I_ into being in a relationship right now?” He asks himself helplessly.

                Soonyoung leans against a wall abruptly, pulling Wonwoo’s forearm lightly to stand beside him. He digs in his coat pocket for a box of cigarettes, mostly full. He doesn’t usually smoke, but it feels appropriate at the moment. He hands one to Wonwoo, lighting them both afterwards.

                “Let’s talk this out, yeah?” Soonyoung prompts after a short drag of his cigarette, holding it idly between his fingers. “I’ll start. I, uh. Seokmin was my first boyfriend. He’s important to me, and I want to be friends with him again eventually. I think—since I met you, lived with you and stuff, I think I’m ready to move on from that. I _think._ I’m more worried about you not being ready.”

                Soonyoung turns his head for what he feels like is the first time since he woke up—he sees Wonwoo beside him, pursed lips and eyes squinting. He takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette, ashing it between them, a shaky sigh following it.

                “I just don’t want you to get sick of me.”

                Soonyoung swallows. That was heavy.

                “Wonwoo,” He whispers, almost cooing. “I’m not Junhui.”

                Suddenly, for the first time that Soonyoung has seen, Wonwoo cries—his lower lip doesn’t wiggle and his brows don’t furrow, the tears just fall solemnly from his lower lid as if against his own will. He wipes them away with his thumb, crossing his arms afterwards. He can’t look Soonyoung in the eye.

                “I know that.” He says after a drawn out, sad silence.

                “Seokmin is—he was a big part of my life, you know? And Junhui was a big part of yours.” Soonyoung says it slowly, looking down at his hands. “I want to be… I want to be _like_ Junhui was to you, like, the good parts, but I don’t want to be him. I can’t be Junhui.” Soonyoung can tell he’s babbling, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem annoyed.

                “And I can’t be Seokmin.”

                “Yes.” It comes out like an exhale more than anything, and Soonyoung looks at him in attempt to meet his eyes. He waits, patiently, until Wonwoo looks back to him. “I don’t want you to be Seokmin, I want you to be Wonwoo.” It sounds cheesy, scripted, but it comes out naturally and reassuringly. Wonwoo is completely still. There’s a look of understanding on his face—his eyes flick back and forth like he’s unsure what to do next. Though he only smoked half of it, Soonyoung puts the cigarette out with his shoe and opens his arms slightly.

                Wonwoo shuffles until he’s flush against Soonyoung’s side, hugging him loosely. Soonyoung wonders if they’re leaving things there—he doesn’t mind it, particularly. It’s not like he has a limited amount of time with Wonwoo. He stays there for a while, face tucked into his shoulder, until Soonyoung uncurls his arms from him, pecking his cheek innocently before stepping away from the wall.

                “Good talk,” He says with a chuckle. “You wanna grab some breakfast from McDonald’s? I’ll pay.”

                Wonwoo snickers. It’s adorable, the way his nose scrunches up.

                “You really do like me, huh?"

* * *

 

                The bedside table Wonwoo bought at the thrift store is chipping—it’s a nice table, looks like some mod thing from the 70’s, and it fits nicely in their new apartment’s bedroom. But, again, it _is_ chipping, so Wonwoo sands it down while Soonyoung drops by the hardware store for some paint.

                They haven’t moved the couch or the shelf in yet, so Wonwoo sits on the floor with a book, a box full beside him, basking in the sun from the big window in their living room. The window is Wonwoo’s second favorite thing about the apartment, the first being that it’s theirs. They live there together not out of situation’s sake, but because they want to.

                Wonwoo’s too focused on his novel to hear Soonyoung come home and plop down on the floor behind him, backhugging him to dog ear the page he was on and set the book down, closed. Twisting his waist behind him, he reaches into a plastic bag, pulling out a quart of paint and a paint can opener, and placing them both in Wonwoo’s hands.

                “Open it.” Soonyoung demands, a sly smile spreading across his face. Wonwoo does so, careful to not spill any on the carpet, and laughs when he lifts the lid. Soonyoung’s neck cranes over his shoulder to look at his purchase, waiting for Wonwoo’s response.

                “It’s hideous,” He says, putting the lid back and snorting. Soonyoung is equally amused, hugging Wonwoo tightly and laying his head against his back.

                “It’s turquoise,” Soonyoung defends. He planned on buying white paint, but he found a shade that looked almost exactly like their terrible bookshelf—he couldn’t resist.

                Wonwoo pushes his back hard against Soonyoung’s chest, leaning back into it and forcing him to lie on the floor, eventually scooting so they’re side by side. They face each other, grinning stupidly, and Wonwoo punches Soonyoung in the stomach lightly.

                “You’re so _stupid.”_ He says flatly, now pinching at Soonyoung’s arms and side. Soonyoung kicks him away but still reaches for his hand to hold it firmly.

                Soonyoung kisses him, pulling away with a smile. “But you love me.”

                “I do.” He whispers, and Soonyoung feels like he just got married on his apartment floor, among a pile of books and a can of ugly paint.


End file.
